Page 6 of How to Tempt an Earl

“Is Father in there?” He pointed to the closed parlor door.

Her stomach felt as if it were hollowed out at the child’s worried expression. She wanted to shelter Adam from their father’s sins and their financial troubles.

“I can hear him snoring,” Adam said when she remained silent.

Grace sighed. “Father is in there, but it’s best to leave him alone.”

“Are we going to have to leave the house? Go to the country?”

“Who told you that?”

“I heard Mr. Stevens speaking with Mrs. Stevens.”

Goodness. Children were smart. They were also good at eavesdropping.

“No. We will not have to leave.” Grace sounded more certain than she felt.

“I won’t have much to inherit, will I?”

“Adam I—”

“Don’t fret. I don’t want to be a baron.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I want to be pirate and travel the South Seas.”

“Oh, Adam. The barony is your birthright.”

He wrinkled his nose. “You can have it.”

She ruffled his hair. “It doesn’t work that way and you know it.” Taking his hand, she led him away from the parlor and toward the kitchens. “Now let’s see about warming some milk. I’d like a glass, too.”

An hour and two cups of warm milk later, Grace tucked her brother into bed. She then wandered to her bedchamber but didn’t bother to lie in the four-poster and attempt to sleep. Rather she lit more candles and sat at the escritoire in the corner of the room and withdrew a stack of ledgers. Her work had kept the creditors at bay until now, but it wouldn’t be enough if her father continued visiting the tables.

What if he never stopped?

The fastest and most efficient way to help her family was to marry a man of wealth. But dressing for a successful Season was costly. She needed new gowns, shoes, and accessories.

Would she have enough even if she sold all the jewels?

Her thoughts turned to Ian Swift and his sordid offer. The risks were high. Dare she accept?

…

The sun had long since risen by the time Ian returned to his large town house in Piccadilly. He’d recently acquired the residence from a viscount who’d owed him money. Prior to residing there, he’d lived above the Raven Club. Ian’s butler opened the door before he reached the top step.

“The Countess of Castleton waits in the parlor,” Jenkins said.

Ian stiffened. He was exhausted after a night at the club. A fight had broken out at one of the tables, and after his man had stopped the fisticuffs, Ian had harsh words with both gamblers and permanently evicted the Earl of Loveland’s heir from his club. Another gambler, the Marquess of Nottingham, had foolishly wagered an unentailed country estate in Hertfordshire and, when he had lost the property in a hand of cards, had burst into tears and had to be escorted out. Then there had been the tedious and time-taking ledgers to review with Brooks.

Ian wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a bed. An early-morning visit with his mother was the last thing he desired.

Ian stepped into the parlor. “Hello, Mother.”

The countess rose from a settee by the fireplace. “Hello, Ian. I had hoped to find you home.”

She was a tall, elegant woman who was still attractive, her blonde hair without a hint of gray. She was dressed in a black mourning gown that brought out specs of green in her light brown eyes and creamy skin. She’d been a great beauty in her youth and had captured the earl’s interest during her first Season. Ian’s darker looks had come from his father.